


Spinning in the Ether

by FunnyWings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Betrayal, Destiel - Freeform, Dreamhunter, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Intergenerational conflict, M/M, Movie AU, Romance, Stardust AU, a few ghosts - Freeform, a small amount of murder, all of the couples have their day in the sun, references some events from the book and some from the movie, samwitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 22:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunnyWings/pseuds/FunnyWings
Summary: Dean Winchester falls in love with a strange fae boy. Twenty years later, his daughter Claire is determined to travel to the land of the Fae and return in order to convince Jesse Turner to go on a date with her. The two go on an adventure, meet a young star, discover a few long last relatives, and in general leave their small town values behind in order to have a very fun and dangerous adventure.Excerpt:It wasn’t until the market of 1995 that further problems arose.In the intervening twenty years, Mary and John Winchester had done what young couples in love frequently do. They had gotten married and had two children, only one of which survived to adulthood (as far as they were aware). His name was Dean Winchester, and at eighteen years old he was just as lovable as Mary had been as a child and just as excitable as John had been.Like all those born in Lebanon, the thought of leaving had never occurred to him.





	1. Chapter 1

There was always something unusual about the town of Lebanon, Kansas. The walls between world there has been thin since there were walls between worlds. By the time it became the center of a growing nation, it had solidified itself in its oddness in a way that was impossible to know of should you not live there.

No local of Lebanon ever left the town. Oh sure, for short journeys or to pick up something you couldn’t find at the grocery, but no one ever entertained the idea of uprooting themselves permanently. There was an unspoken pact between the people of the town that they were there to protect access to the lands on the other side of reality.

As the world around them devolved into nuclear panic, the people of Lebanon quietly took advantage to build what looked to be a fallout shelter. However, if anyone not in the know had sought to investigate further, they would realize the people of Lebanon had built nothing of the sort. Instead they had built a door. A tightly regulated door, but a door none the less. And, having built a door, it wasn’t so long until people began knocking from the other side. What had once been a tissue thin barrier, easily broken and prone to tearing, had now been given a stable method of entry. Whether or not it was an invitation, it had been taken as one, and the people of Lebanon were used to accepting oddity into their lives. The only difference now was their ability to put faces to the names of the creatures they had grown up whispering about. Fairies and vampires and demons, and some even whispered angels.

Very few people know that the larger than usual farmer’s market in Lebanon every ten years is an event unto itself. Only the locals can pick out the strangers, though their eyes sometimes slide past the strange trinkets their visitors bring from the worlds that Lebanon is attached to. They buy and they sell and they mingle amongst the humans, almost human themselves. If only in action and appearance.

The strangers bring new foods, fruits that smell as sweet as spring dew, the sounds made by silent animals before their voices were stolen from them by the angel Balthazar, who still twinkles merrily in the night sky. People would dress nicer than usual going to market, and a fair share of the market lot were from elsewhere, be that on Earth or off it. Once every decade, when the barrier became thinnest and the door safe to use, Lebanon, Kansas was the center of a million worlds. And then the barrier between realities began to thicken again, and the strange folks who had come through the door hurried off.

One time, a fairy hadn’t been quick enough. She had frozen into a statue of salt and washed away with the summer rains. Decades later her sisters still were looking for pieces of her so they could put her together again. How they planned to do this, the people of Lebanon didn’t know, and they didn’t ask either. If there was one thing that had well situated Lebanon in their unusual circumstances, it was that they were smart enough not to ask the right questions.

Outsiders were hard pressed to keep the same attitude.

John Winchester was a marine. While he was at war, his father convinced his mother to leave their life for the quiet town of Lebanon. There they settled down. At first they were rejected by the locals, shunned. At least they were until Henry Winchester proved to be an excellent bookbinder. He was sought out at market by prominent members of fairy kind, and declared a veritable man of letters. Millie Winchester did not need to do so much to prove herself. She knew her husband had certain fascinations with the unnatural and she’d long since decided she’d rather not know the extent of his inquiries into such matters. She became very good at not asking questions, the favored past time of her new home.

It was John Winchester that was the problem. He found it difficult not to question the oddness when he returned to his parents new home. A cheerful man, by all rights, but one who was too openly curious. It wasn’t long until some of the townspeople began muttering about playing matchmaker to turn the man’s attention elsewhere. Everyone knew you didn’t talk about how some of the strange folk that visited Lebanon were stranger than anyone had any right of being, and yet John went on about it all like the world was ending.

Setting him up with a local girl, one Mary Campbell, became a game among some of the more sly residents of Lebanon. It took coaxing and cajoling and hinting to convince John that Mary had feelings for him (something she absolutely did not), and this at first only caused him to avoid her as far as was possible. This all changed in a matter of seconds when John heard Mary humming Stairway to Heaven as she worked shelving goods at her father’s store. It was like being hit through the heart with an arrow.

Music became a love language between the two of them, and to John’s surprise, and the dismay of the Campbells, Mary was a much more curious soul than she had let on.The market of 1975 went down in history as the year that no good Winchester boy and the formerly beloved Campbell girl nearly ruined the market by asking rude and pointed questions of some of the less humanoid vendors. Following this incident, Henry Winchester saw it prudent to gently lead them away from such confrontational methods and clued them into the work he was doing. This was, in general, to the benefit of all, and went a long ways to satisfying their long held curiosity about Lebanon.

It wasn’t until the market of 1995 that further problems arose.

In the intervening twenty years, Mary and John Winchester had done what young couples in love frequently do. They had gotten married and had two children, only one of which survived to adulthood (as far as they were aware). His name was Dean Winchester, and at eighteen years old he was just as lovable as Mary had been as a child and just as excitable as John had been.

Like all those born in Lebanon, the thought of leaving had never occurred to him.

At this point in time, Dean Winchester had spent two years in subtle attempts to convince Joanna Harvelle that she was in love with him. Jo had no actual need of convincing, because in fact this was very true. Despite this, Jo had spent the past two years in subtle attempts to convince Dean Winchester that he was not in love with her, something she was, at present, wrong about. It is with this in mind that Dean went to the market in search of some exotic gift to win over Jo Harvelle’s heart.

He wandered the stands, as in awe of the wonders there as he had been at eight years old. A stall that sold only necklaces made of Leviathan teeth sat next to a tent in which Dean knew Missouri Mosely would tell you your fortune in return for a blood donation (those in Lebanon that were rude enough to gossip speculated that Missouri’s husband, who she married in the market of ’65 was a vampire). She saw him for only a few days every ten years, and yet Dean had never seen two other people so obviously in love. He’d once asked Missouri why she didn’t follow her husband home if he couldn’t stay here. She’d scolded him for asking stupid questions instead of answering.

Dean moved on, inspecting the delights at every stall. From the more earthly offerings of fresh fruit or the handcrafted jewelry Pamela made, to the seemingly ordinary Hands of God, which were supposed to grant the owner an eye for divinity. There were fairy lanterns, which glowed red when danger approached, and already dotted the homes of many Lebanon residences, and seamless clothes that never stained nor tore, and fit perfectly any who wore them. There were spices that changed the color of your eyes temporarily, and love letters in long lost languages whose authors whispered in your ears as you read them.

It was this last item that interested Dean the most. He found one in particular that spoke to him, drew him in with its sadness and longing. It was not quite a love poem as many of the others were, he thought to himself, even as he could not understand the words that were being whispered to him. The words themselves might have been about love, but underneath it all it was the thrumming of a desperate need for something better. It was a feeling Dean had never considered before, but as soon as it struck him, he felt a deep dissatisfaction in his gut.

“Would you like to buy it?” asked the boy who was standing by the stall. He looked to be in his early twenties, not much older than Dean. He was about Dean’s height, dark-haired, strong and pensive looking. His eyes were such a bright shade of blue, Dean wondered if he had eaten some of the spices from the stall down the street. He knew enough of the Lebanon fair not to actually ask.

“It’s awesome,” Dean said. And then as the realization hit him that the voice he heard was the same as the poem’s author. “You wrote it?”

“I wrote it,” the boy confirmed. His eyes seemed to smile, although his expression changed little. “And I can give it to you, if you’re willing to sacrifice something in return.”

“I don’t have much,” Dean said, which was true. Any money the Winchesters made was usually quickly invested back into Henry Winchester’s book collection, of which Dean owned nothing at the current moment. They were not a family that used the knowledge they collected for riches, and although they were not poor, Dean knew that it was not an amount of money that could be saved up and exchanged at some of the stranger tents at market. For the prices some asked, he had neither the wealth nor the resources to obtain payment.

“That isn’t true,” said the boy. “I could take the spring in your step, or the sparkle in your eye. I could take the feeling of warmth when your mother hugs you. I could take every memory of your late brother, or your voice, or perhaps remove your ability to see the color pink. I’d advise against that last one. It’s more annoying than you’d think. No one realizes how much of the world they’ll no longer be able to see until they’ve already agreed.”

The boy thought for a moment longer, as though trying to remember something.

“Ah, yes. And no refunds or returns.”

Dean stared at him. He supposed this was a way to prove he loved Jo, by giving up some essential part of himself. It was certainly a bold step, and if nothing else proved he was perfectly serious in her attentions to her. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Could I ask for a discount?” Dean asked. The boy raised an eyebrow at him, quietly angered at the request. This was probably fair considering the fact that it was his own work, and Dean was asking to pay less than it was worth. “It’s for a girl-“

“Well, if it’s for a girl,” the boy said, a mite sarcastically, though his expression did soften a fraction. Dean took it as encouragement to go on.

“A wonderful girl. Her eyes are like steel, and she commands attention in a room just by walking into it. She can punch above her weight, not because of skill but because she doesn’t know when to give up. I’ve loved her for years, but I can’t find a way to convince her that… Do you understand what it’s like to look at someone, and know you could have a future with them, but you can’t because they’re afraid you might hurt them?” said Dean. The boy looked Dean up and down, and Dean got the feeling he was being reconsidered thoroughly. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel small, as if the person inspecting him were someone much more important than a boy who worked a stall in a marketplace.

“I understand,” the boy said. “Or maybe I will someday. I find it hard to fault anyone who loves others without fear. For many, such a feat is an impossibility.”

The boy sighed, for a moment lost in his own past or troubles. Dean frowned and reached out to him, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The boy shook himself and nodded, though now he looked at Dean with an emotion one should never feel in Lebanon if one values their sanity: curiosity.

“I’ll give you the poem,” he said, suddenly and decisively. “In exchange for a kiss.”

Although Dean was very surprised by this request (and a little apprehensive), he supposed it was a much lower price than anything else the boy had suggested. He took the deal while he still could.

It was… strange. Kissing a boy. Not unenjoyable to Dean’s surprise. It only lasted a second, barely a peck, but it lit up the same fireworks he had seen when he had kissed Robin or Cassie for the first time. Or Jo, too, the night he had first told her how he felt, before she’d gotten cold feet. And looking into the boy’s eyes afterwards, and seeing their brightness glow a little brighter in a moment of simple happiness made Dean go weak at the knees in a way that was hard to explain. He stuttered as he left, poem in hand, and nearly tripped over his own feet as the boy watched him go.

He didn’t understand this sudden shift in emotion. He wondered a moment if he had been bewitched somehow, but dismissed the notion just as quickly. He would have noticed if the boy had been working some kind of magic, wouldn’t he?

He wished suddenly that he had asked for the boy’s name.

As Dean hurried to find Jo and clear his mind of the wrong pair of lips, the boy’s master and the owner of the stall returned to find one of her inventory missing with no significant payment in return.

“He seemed nice, Rowena,” was all the boy had to say in his defense. Rowena narrowed her eyes at him.

“Nice?” she demanded. The boy said nothing. “There are very few nice men in the world, boy, and I doubt you just met one of them. How dare you give away my livelihood for free? When I feed you and clothe you and-“

“And drag me in your wake without care for my wishes, and demand things of me that I find sickening,” said the boy. Rowena’s eye twitched. “And the poem in question is one I wrote.”

“And my magic gave life to,” Rowena hissed. The boy looked away from her, knowing this was true. “Never forget, boy, I did you a favor. I stripped you of your name and freed you from your burdens and you agreed to give your will to me.”

“Until a woman rules Paradise,” the boy muttered. “Be that next week or at the end of time itself.”

“Women can’t rule Paradise,” Rowena pointed out, which the boy knew. It was a constant cause of his despair that these were the terms the Dealmaker had laid out for his agreement for Rowena. The man had called it mercy too, and even as a boy of twelve, those ten years prior, the boy had known he had signed away eternity to a woman that was at her best prickly and at her worst incredibly spiteful. It was impossible to like Rowena, knowing the power she had over him, and yet sometimes he treated her as if he was a son and not a servant. The occasional kindness only made the boy more wary of Rowena, and more guarded against what she might do next. “And you can’t even run a stand properly. Remember, you owe your loyalty to me. I saved your worthless life by taking you as my servant. You could have found someone much worse than me to accept your deal.”

And with that, the boy was transformed into a bloodhound, with large expressive (and still blue) eyes and drooping ears. Used to Rowena’s method of winning arguments, the boy-turned-dog only sighed and settled on his haunches. He supposed he wouldn’t be meeting any other people at the market that day.

Elsewhere, Dean had found Jo inspecting bone blades. They came from the Grey Lands, and the man who sold them had sharp teeth and collected the same payment as Missouri. Jo frowned in concern at a particularly beautiful bone knife that cost a gallon of human blood.

“Jo!” Dean called out to her. Jo sighed and pointed towards one of the more affordable knives. The man gave her a receipt and pointed her towards the blood bank a few tents down. Dean accompanied Jo as she walked there. “I got something for you.”

“Did you?” Jo asked, though she did look to see what Dean was carrying in his hands. She reached out and Dean handed it to her, as she opened it and started to read her eyes widened. To Dean’s surprise, tears sprung to Jo’s eyes as she finished. “That was…”

“I know,” said Dean. Jo looked at him and then looked away again, frowning. “Jo, do you really not love me?”

“How am I supposed to answer that?” she asked, which was not an answer at all. “Why did you pick this one?”

“I… I liked it best.”

“Gotcha,” said Jo, with a soft sigh. “You realize that you only like me because you don’t want to be alone?”

“You don’t want to be alone either,” said Dean, and he could see he was right by the way Jo’s expression changed. “No one wants to be alone.”

“Fine. I love you,” she said. Dean waited for something to happen. He expected his heart to soar, or the world to focus down to Jo Harvelle, or any number of other romantic sensations that seemed to happen in books and movies. Instead there was nothing. He didn’t even really feel pleased, and he had no idea why.

“We should get married,” said Dean next, fully expecting Jo to say no. Instead she blinked at him, and then continued on her way to the blood bank.

“Alright,” she said to Dean’s astonishment. She left to give her payment, and Dean stood there, absolutely stunned. He had somehow just managed to get himself engaged to Jo Harvelle. He should be happy. Why wasn’t he happy?

It was a question that stayed in his head all through the night, as they told their parents and the news began to spread through Lebanon. Excluding other men Dean’s age (and one very sad girl) who had had their eyes on Jo, everyone was overjoyed to hear the news. And yet Dean wasn’t. He didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment, or even contentment.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked Jo at one point, later in the night after they had been drinking a short while. She smiled at him, and there was something heartbreaking about the fact that she looked happy. After all of her time spent being afraid of what loving Dean Winchester might bring her, she looked happy. They kissed and it was nice. There was a spark there, like there had been before, but Dean couldn’t remove the thought from his head that it wasn’t quite so nice as another kiss he had enjoyed recently.

Dean felt like a man possessed as he slipped away from the celebrations of his own engagement and went off into the night down to the market. Only to set himself right, he told himself.

It wasn’t hard to find the right stand. Rowena had in the meantime transformed the boy back into his normal self so he could help put everything away. It was the last day of the fair, and they would be leaving in the morning. Dean was surprised when the witch caught sight of him before the boy did. She looked him up and down with barely disguised annoyance, but didn’t tell him to leave. Instead she told the boy she would be sleeping for the night and left him to finish packing up their possessions.

Dean approached him.

“You’ve put some spell on me,” he said angrily, startling the boy, who had been focusing on carefully rolling up scrolls older than the Earth he now stood on. Carefully, the boy set them down and turned to look at Dean. “You’ve… You must have-“

“Trust me, I would never do such a thing,” he said quietly. “I know what it’s like to have your will not be your own. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

Dean did not know what to do with this. In fact he did not know what to do at all, and perhaps that was why he stopped trying to reason what he should do and did what he had only just realized he wanted to do. He kissed the boy again, longer this time. He leaned back and then found himself lurching forward to again catch the boy’s lips with his own, all the while reveling in the wide blue eyes that were staring back at him.

“I see,” was all the boy said, clearing his throat. Dean felt sudden embarrassment clouding his thoughts, making him want to run from these strange feelings. He didn’t know this boy, and yet there was some deep part of him that knew he loved him more than he had loved even Jo.

Dean was about to excuse himself when the boy reached out and took his hand. He walked Dean away from the market and towards the farming fields just outside Lebanon. They didn’t say a word until the boy stopped and lay down on the grass, looking up at the stars.

“They look different from this side,” he said. Dean didn’t bother looking up. How could the stars compare to this strange boy’s eyes? The boy looked at him and smiled.

“Do they?” he asked, distracted by the way the moonlight glinted off of the boy’s skin.

“Where I’m from, the stars swirl like jewels and look down at the worlds below them. Here they are just… distant. Cold,” said the boy. “A long time ago a star fell to Earth and became a king. He had sons, who had sons, who had more sons, and so on and so forth until I was born. When I look up in Paradise, I can feel them staring down at me in judgment for my cowardice. They’re much quieter here. It’s nice.”

“What’s your name?” asked Dean.

“I paid a price to lose it,” said the boy. “I don’t think I’ll reclaim it now. Not yet, at least.”

“What should I call you?”

“Anything you like,” he said. “And what should I call you?”

“Dean,” said Dean. “Winchester. Like the gun.”

There was a moment of silence between the two, as they sized each other up. Dean was the first to break the quiet.

“What a perfectly terrible name,” said the boy at last, which Dean didn’t think was very fair.

“Why did you ask me to kiss you?”

“Because you love simply,” said the boy. “Without hesitation and complication and fear. I wanted a moment of that. Just to know someone could love me that way.”

“And how did you know I would?” asked Dean. The boy shrugged looking back at the night sky.

“I knew,” he said. Dean supposed that was all the answer he was going to get, and so he leant over and kissed the boy again. The kiss was quickly returned, and Dean surrendered himself to the feeling of the boy’s hands on his skin. Soon they lay naked under the stars, a wet spot on the ground between them. Dean had never done more than kiss before, and though he did not know it, the boy next to him was no more experienced. It didn’t matter. It had felt right, and Dean longed only to touch him again. At least until he remembered.

“I’m supposed to get married,” he whispered in horror. The boy looked at him.

“Just as well,” he said. “I can’t stay here. You know that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m made of stardust, the same as you,” said the boy. “But perhaps not as well held together without magic. So I’d crumble into nothing. When the walls are thin, our worlds blend into yours. When they’re not…”

“I could come with you,” said Dean.

“No you couldn’t. Rowena would never let you,” said the boy. “And I’m bound to her until a woman rules Paradise. Or forever, whichever comes first.”

This caught Dean’s attention.

“Is there any way I can free you?” he asked.

“None. Though I appreciate you asking. It’s more than most do,” said the boy. Dean thought about something else to say, but came up with nothing. “You should go home, Dean.”

Not knowing what else to do, Dean took the boy’s advice, dressed, and went home. He did not see the boy lean over the ground and whisper old words of power, nor did he see the beginning of a sprout take place in the ground where he had spilled himself over the boy’s hand. Carefully, the boy dug under the sprout and brought it back to the witch’s stall.

He placed the sprout gently into a pot and whispered a few more words so it might escape Rowena’s notice for the time being. He cut his finger and fed the sprout on blood and a spark of star stuff and it grew slightly, now two inches tall. It would be months before she was ready to leave the soil, but this did not concern the boy. He had wanted a reminder of Dean, and of the way Dean had looked at him as if he had more worth than an inconvenience to be rid of.

The boy and the witch left the next day with all the other people from the worlds of elsewhere. Dean was not awake to say goodbye or to miss him, and slowly Dean began to distance himself from that night. He and Jo were married, and he found some of his old feeling for her returning. One of the happiest days of his life was the day he found out that Jo was expecting. For months they were happy.

And then the unexpected happened. A long time before the next fair, there was a polite knock on the door between worlds.

The man guarding it that day was none other than Garth Fitzgerald IV. Unlike many of the other guards would have, he did not follow common sense and ignore this knock, assuming it was a mistake or perhaps someone who did not know that wall was too thick to pass through right now, even at its thinnest point. Instead he opened the door and found a basket on the other side with a baby looking up at him with a wisp of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Just as Garth saw her, she began to sob.

Garth picked her up to soothe her, not even thinking about what might have happened had she been solely of that other world. Luckily, she was partly of this world, and did not need magic to hold her together. She settled in Garth’s arms and that was when he noticed the note attached to her. It read:

“Please take her to Dean Winchester. I grew her from him, and I know he will care for her. I cannot any longer. Her name is Claire.”

There was a letter attached, specifically addressed to Dean as well, but Garth did not read this out of respect for Dean’s privacy. Instead he brought the baby to her new home, and went back to guarding the door.

That night, having been banished from his own bed by a rightfully angry Jo Harvelle, Dean took Claire to Missouri Mosely and asked her again why she had never followed her husband back into those other worlds. She looked at him sadly, taking note of the baby in his arms and said nothing for a long time.

“Because I can’t,” she said at long last. In retrospect it was the obvious answer. No wonder she had assumed Dean would figure it out at some point. “You’re keeping her, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” was all Dean said, staring down at his daughter.

Claire Winchester was something of a miracle, even for a town that had no shortage of miraculous incidents. It was lucky she was born in a place full of people who knew not to ask too many questions. No one asked where she had come from, and no one asked if she didn’t look a little like that boy who had been selling poetry at the market of ’95.


	2. Chapter 2

Like her grandmother before her, you could often find Claire Winchester working at the Campbell General Store, stocking shelves and helping customers. Most days, you would also find Kaia Nieves, Claire’s best friend and closest confidante, there as well. The two were thick as thieves, and anyone with eyes would know that Kaia would take a bullet for Claire in a heartbeat.

If Kaia had less patience for Claire’s infatuation with Jesse Turner, that was neither here nor there. She knew enough not to mention to her friend how much and just why it bothered her.

“He hasn’t asked out Alex,” Claire pointed out. “Even though I know she’s been all over him. No offense.”

“No. Keep insulting my foster sister,” said Kaia sarcastically. “How dare she have a crush on a boy. The inhumanity.”

“Shut up,” said Claire, blushing furiously. Kaia turned around to see that Jesse Turner was about to walk through the glass door. She rolled her eyes and prepared herself for the onslaught. “Act natural.”

Kaia raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Not that natural,” Claire muttered at her, knowing already that Kaia had been planning to launch into a discussion about Lebanon’s lack of any political engagement (a seeming side effect of their willingness to accept literally anything as the status quo). Although Claire liked hearing Kaia’s opinion on anything and everything, and often spent long hours thinking through her own thoughts and rethinking them again through Kaia’s eyes, she knew enough about Jesse Turner to know he was not, at the current moment, living the most examined of lives.

If you wanted someone to put a a whoopee cushion on a teacher’s chair, you’d ask Jesse Turner. That was about the current extent of his reliability, and surprisingly he was rarely called out for his extreme case of arrested development. Kaia secretly thought that most girls were just happy he was relatively harmless, reasonably nice, and extremely good-looking (if Alex was to be believed anyway). ‘He’s probably not going to hurt me on purpose, physically or emotionally’ seemed like a low bar to clear, but Jesse’s popularity with girls Claire and Kaia’s age proved that it was effective.

“Hey, Claire,” said Jesse with his standard friendly grin. “Kaia. How’s it going?”

“We’re good,” said Claire, when Kaia just waved back at him before going back to studying her nails. “You, uh… you need something?”

“Yeah,” said Jesse, handing over a list. “Do you think you could give me a hand? I never remember where anything in this store is.”

Claire was only too eager to comply. She strolled the aisles with him, doing her best to come up with something reasonably witty. A few stabs in the dark, and one good laugh later, Claire was riding high enough to do the scariest thing she had ever done in her short life.

“Do you want to come around tonight?” Claire asked. Jesse started, clearly not expecting this. “We could hang out. My curfew’s eleven, but if I climb out-”

“I’m not sure if-“ Jesse said, only stopping when he caught the expressive frown Kaia was aiming at him. Everything in her expression warned him to tread carefully. He gulped. “Okay. Sure. We’ll talk later.”

Claire practically glowed with happiness for the rest of the day, and Kaia did her best not to let it get to her. It wasn’t Claire’s fault that she was essentially reaching into Kaia’s chest, plucking out her heart, and stomping on it for all the world to see. Well, all the world who weren’t blinded by heteronormativity. If Claire’s heart was set on Jesse Turner, it was Kaia’s job as her friend to support her. Even if she really couldn’t see what Claire’s interest in him was.

That night, Claire waited in her room until Emma was fast asleep in the other bed. It took longer than normal, because Emma had an unfortunately keen sense of when Claire was doing something that would get her in trouble with their parents. It wasn’t that Claire and Emma didn’t get along, it was just that the both of them sensed something deeply wrong in the way their family fit together. Despite Jo’s best efforts, she had never been able to forgive Claire for who she was. She loved Claire fiercely, but there was a tinge of resentment in even her kindest words to Claire, and Emma had picked up on it since the two were children.

But at last Emma had gone to sleep, and Claire had climbed out her window and made her way down to her drive way where Jesse was waiting for her. He smiled when he saw her, more out of reflex than true happiness. Claire couldn’t see this and instead smiled back, revealing a bottle of champagne from behind her back.

“My dad got it for me when Emma and I turned eighteen. I’ve been saving it,” she said. Jo and Dean had decided it was best to tell their children they were twins than to attempt to explain Claire’s parentage. Claire’s actual birthday would be a matter of philosophical discussion considering she wasn’t born, and was instead plucked from the Earth after being fed a diet of blood and starlight during her gestation. And perhaps she was born again when she was taken from one world to the next. “He got one for Emma, too.”

“That’s… that’s cool,” said Jesse. “Claire, I just wanted to-“

“We could just sit on the roof for a while,” Claire said. “If you can’t stay long.”

Jesse, who had very rarely in his life had to explain himself in any way approaching delicacy, agreed. Claire helped him climb up the pipe to the roof and then rolled out a blanket she kept up there for occasions when she couldn’t stand Emma’s face. She laid down on it, and hesitating a moment, Jesse lay next to her.

Claire opened the champagne, and took a gulp, gathering her courage. She passed the bottle to Jesse, and he did the same.

“I was thinking,” said Claire, once Jesse had carefully set the bottle down between them. “That I should be your girlfriend. If you wanted.”

Jesse really hadn’t prepared for this.

“I don’t-“ he started. “I mean, you’re cool, Claire. You’re really cool. It’s just I don’t like you like that.”

Claire stared up at the sky. Jesse turned to look at her and tried not to notice that her eyes looked a little glassier than they had been a moment before.

“No hard feelings-“ he tried.

“Why?”

“I like someone else.”

“Who?”

“Uh… well, Alex Mills?” he said hesitantly. “She’s just… she’s interesting, you know? Did you know she’s going to college out of state? She wants to be doctor. And she’s so… I don’t know. Different. After everything she went through before Jody took her in, she’s really grown up.”

Claire did know that Alex was going to college out of state, and that she wanted to be a doctor, and that all the teachers at school acted like the sun shone out of her ass because of everything she had overcome to become the perfect fucking little valedictorian. She knew that when she’d confided in Kaia that Alex’s boyfriend during their junior year was a skeezball, Alex had responded by saying Claire was jealous because nobody wanted to date her. It was months of hurt that drove her to say what she said next.

“Like going out of state is that impressive,” said Claire. “I’d road trip with you from New York to L.A. if we were dating. We could…”

“Claire,” Jesse said gently, which just made Claire angrier and more stubborn.

“We could hitchhike through Europe, or catch a ferry to New Zealand. Or…” said Claire, trailing off. Above them, a shooting star rocketed past. This would be important to remember for later. “I mean, there has to be something.”

Jesse, being the kind of boy who had rarely if ever wandered out of his comfort zone, took this as an opportunity to make a joke. Had he known just how seriously Claire would take it, he would never have opened his mouth.

“Go through the Door and come back,” he said. No one except for the creatures from other worlds had ever done that, and he didn’t believe for a second that Claire would be the first human to try.

“And then you’ll go on a date with me?” Claire asked. Jesse sat up and shook off the chill of the evening air.

“Sure, Claire,” he said. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

Jesse than carefully climbed down from the roof, leaving Claire alone to her thoughts. And her thoughts were not on going to school the next day. She snuck back through the window, thinking very hard indeed. She was thinking so hard, in fact, that she didn’t notice Emma’s bed was empty and that her mom and dad were sitting there instead. Waiting for her.

Or at least she didn’t until Dean cleared his throat.

Claire turned around, desperately trying to think of something that would buy her time. Coming up with nothing, she decided to wing it.

“So…” she said, trying not to be intimidated by the blank eyed stares of her parents. “I can explain.”

“Oh, this will be good,” said Dean, already more amused by the situation than he was angry. This was a good sign. Dean rarely got angry with her, but when he did, he and Claire would get into shouting matches that lasted hours. They were both a little hotheaded, and it usually took intervention to cut off the positive feedback loop of anger.

“Don’t encourage her,” muttered Jo. “Look, I’m not saying I never snuck out-“

“Good, because we both know that’s not true,” said Claire. “You made my curfew eleven, do you know how lame that is?”

“Not as lame as being grounded for three weeks,” said Dean. Claire gaped at him. “Don’t look at me like that. This is the second time this week you’ve snuck out. I know you and Kaia don’t think it’s fair you can’t spend all your time together, but-“

“I wasn’t with Kaia,” said Claire. “I was on the roof. By myself. And I only went up so I didn’t have to hear Emma snoring. Have I mentioned how unfair it is that we still have to share a room. I will live in the attic, I swear to God.”

“So I guess it was you talking to yourself that woke up Emma.”

Fucking rat.

“Yep,” said Claire. Jo and Dean exchanged a glance.

“Three weeks,” said Dean. “Or we might let you off with good behavior if you help your grandparents clean out the storage room this weekend.”

At this very moment, Claire was certain this was a fate worse than death. She loved Grandma Mary, she really did, but Grandpa John always looked at her oddly. Like she was a stranger. It unsettled her to the point she had started throwing tantrums when she was little to avoid having to see him. It had deeply surprised her when Dean had agreed with her demands and even avoided his dad alongside her until John had promised to be nicer to Claire.

She wasn’t sure whether or not she was glad to know it wasn’t just in her imagination that her grandfather disliked and distrusted her. It certainly added a layer of tension at family holidays. One time, John had gotten so drunk, he’d spouted off on a rant about Claire being wrong. Unnatural. Strange. Claire hadn’t understood it then, and she didn’t understand it now, but John wasn’t the only one who treated her with caution. Sometimes it felt like the world was holding it’s breath around her, waiting for disaster to strike.

Still, she really, really didn’t want to be grounded.

“Okay,” she said sullenly. Jo and Dean took this as the admission of defeat it was and returned to their own (separate) beds. Soon Emma came back to her shared room with Claire. “Someday soon, I swear I’m never going to talk to you again.”

“You shouldn’t have been out after curfew,” Emma sniffed back at her, curling up in her bed to go back to sleep.

“I hope you wake up one day and find me dead, and know the last thing you said to me was probably passive aggressive bullshit,” said Claire. Emma frowned at her and then knocked on her wooden bed-frame, as superstitious as ever.

“I only called them when I heard you saying you’d go through the Door for some guy,” she said stubbornly. “Which you can’t. Everyone knows that.”

Claire didn’t say anything. Instead she turned so her back was facing Emma. It wasn’t as satisfying a revenge as she’d hoped, giving Emma the silent treatment. Within minutes her sister was snoring again and Claire lay there miserably trying to get to sleep over the unearthly sounds coming from her sister’s bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The locals of Paradise frequently complain that the name was quite wrongly chosen. Or perhaps it had once been true, but had long since failed to apply to their homeland. What had once been a garden land, bursting with fruits and flowers that filled the air with the enticing smells of the faery lands of old had long since withered away. What was left was a stormy, rocky land with a troubled monarchical system and a restless populace.

A long time ago, and in an incredibly unlikely turn of events, a star had fallen to Earth. He had, in case any were curious, had an unfortunate spat with one of his brothers and had been rather rudely knocked out of the sky. With no means of returning home, this star had chosen to become the king of the country he had landed on. Paradise had never before heard of kings, but they had swiftly decided arguing with the powerful man that had only just fallen from the sky would be more trouble than it was worth. And so Abel, the Northernmost star, became a ruler and used the magic of his own potential for creation to become a father.

Five sons later, it occurred to the now aging star that the question of succession would eventually come up. He was long lived, but his immortality had been left behind him when he had fallen from the heavens. This being the case, he decided to institute a system that would immortalize the injustice that had once been done to him, the betrayal of a brother. He told his sons that the man who survived his brothers would be king. At first his sons were hesitant to hurt each other, but they did not hold out for long, and their greed overcame their love for each other. Soon, there was one son left standing, and Abel passed his title along. And so the tradition began.

Many generations later, Prince Chuck and Lady Amara were born, after which the king had two more sons. Having grown fond of her older brother, Amara killed her younger siblings after discovering them in a scheme to to abduct and murder Chuck. If it had not been for her, Chuck would never have been the King of Paradise. For everyone but Chuck and Amara, this probably would have been a good thing. Chuck was a timid and tempestuous leader, and a generous person might describe his style of governance as laissez-faire. An honest person would probably just say lazy.

So Chuck left first his sister Amara, and then later his succession of wives and husbands to do most of the ruling. After the death of his most recent (and most beloved) wife, Rebecca Rosen, Chuck realized his own end was soon approaching and it was time to approach the subject of succession.

Usually, there is only one son alive by the time of the King’s death. Perhaps it was Chuck’s lack of outright cruelty, or some other perceived empathy that had prevented any of the three remaining brothers from killing each other. Or perhaps it was because they had wondered if perhaps they could be the generation to make the changing of hands more peaceful. Either way, it was something that needed to be dealt with and Chuck didn’t have the courage or the decisiveness to actually pick an heir from among his sons. He also didn’t have the heart to force them to fight in front of him for the crown.

No, Chuck had come up with a way of dealing with things in which he needed to take as little responsibility as possible.

“As you know,” said Chuck. “I’m not going to be around forever. And soon, one of you will be replacing me.”

“Could you get on with it, Dad?” muttered Gabriel, the least reverential of Chuck’s remaining sons. He was also the one who would likely make the best king, despite the fact he had inherited much of Chuck’s desire to dodge responsibility and conflict. Unlike his father, their was a certain amount of creativity and compassion that clung to him. Besides this, he had a sense of humor about the world and about himself, as every good leader should. “I mean, not to rush you, but you literally might be killing a couple of us here, so…”

Chuck’s oldest and most obedient son, Michael, cleared his throat.

“Have some respect,” he hissed. Gabriel rolled his eyes, but said nothing else.

Chuck’s final and youngest son said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on his dying father, and his face remained unreadable. To look at him would chill an outsider to the bone, but the contents of his heart were not so soulless as his exterior. He had promised himself long ago he would not kill his brothers except in self defense, but he had also promised himself that he would not die at the hands Chuck’s sons. This required him to be constantly on guard from possible attack.

He still dreamed, sometimes, of leaving paradise behind and returning to the home he had been taken from as a small child.

“Gadreel,” Chuck said, drawing Gadreel’s attention to him. It was a false name, but it had been given to him by a man who had long been his father, so he wore it with pride. “Look out the window for me. Tell me what you see.”

Gadreel glanced at his brothers and nodded hesitantly. He opened the window and looked out into the dark night. The stars whispered to him, only just waking from their slumber. A new light had only just appeared in the sky, a star born only a year or so ago whose light had only just reached Paradise. For a moment Gadreel smiled, and he relayed his findings to his father.

Chuck, who had realized the same thing the night before, nodded to himself.

“The power of Paradise lies in the skull of Abel,” said Chuck, taking off a pendant of polished bone, engraved in the language of angels. “Whoever possesses it on All Hallow’s Eve, when the walls between worlds is thinnest will be the next ruler of Paradise, be that one of my descendants, or the carrier I have chosen.”

For once, Gadreel’s pokerface failed.

“You mean you’re going to entrust the future of Paradise to an infant?” he demanded.

“Well this will be one for the history books.”

“Shut up, Gabriel,” said both Gadreel and Michael.

“I was just trying to lighten the mood,” muttered Gabriel, before pouring himself some of his father’s wine. He missed his older brother wincing, or he might have thought twice about drinking it. As it was, Michael attempted to salvage the situation as best as he could.

“I’m the oldest, Father,” he said urgently. “And I’ve done everything for you. You’re making a mistake.”

Chuck considered this.

“Oh well,” he said. “I already decided.”

And with that the necklace in his hands flung out the open window and into the night sky. Seconds later, a star fell to Earth. Gadreel couldn’t help but note it fell miles and miles from the castle, which really added insult to injury.

“And what happens to the rest of us?” Gadreel demanded of his adopted father. This question was wasted on him. Chuck had already died, smiling the benevolent smile of a man who was very certain he would not have to live with the consequences of the choice he had just made. “Damn you.”

Gadreel turned to look at his other brothers.

“I don’t want to be king,” he said succinctly. “I only want to live. I won’t chase the star if…”

Gadreel trailed off as he saw Gabriel’s face changing to a bright purple. He turned sharply towards Michael, who looked away. It was clear what was happening and as Gabriel collapsed, Gadreel rushed to his side.

“Brother, hold on,” he said. “I can call one of the Healers-“

“It won’t help,” Michael said. “He wasn’t supposed to drink it. I thought if Father died before he could-“

“You killed him?”

“Chuck was dying anyway,” Michael said calmly to his brother. “And you and Gabriel never wanted to be king, you’ve just admitted as much. Why shouldn’t it be me? Because our Father was a coward whose favorite died before he could?”

Gabriel continued to choke, his hands scrabbling at his neck as white foam fell from his mouth. He looked Gadreel in the eye as life left him and the message was clear as day. Gadreel let his brother fall and then turned to look at Michael.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he said simply. Michael had never before been afraid of his little brother, and he wasn’t going to start now.

No one had ever said Michael was very smart.

***

A long way away, a fallen star got to his feet.

“Ow,” he said with feeling. Pain was a new sensation for him. He was quite certain he didn’t like it, but was also quite unsure what exactly to do about it. So he climbed out of the crater falling had caused, determined to examine his surroundings.

Following this, he was promptly kidnapped.

***

An even farther distance away, three witches took an interest in the familial drama that had caused a star to fall on the lands of the Fae. The Loughlin siblings were as old as Abel’s line was, and it was them that had harvested his essence when he fell ill and was no longer able to defend himself against them. For thousands upon thousands of years they had subsisted off of star stuff, whether that was the potent remains of Abel or the less potent essence they were able to extract from those of his descendants that were foolish enough not to guard themselves against witches.

At this point the essence that remained in Abel’s descendants was small enough to buy a century’s worth of magic free life at most. Knowing this would only continue to decrease, and that Abel’s essence had now dwindled to almost nothing, it was high time the Loughlins had found themselves another star.

Catriona, who was much more intelligent than her two brothers, Boyd and Gideon, firmly decided that she was the one who should adventure out to find the star. The complaints against this decision were short-lived when she reminded Gideon they had had to resurrect him twice in the past year because of his recklessness and Boyd that he was not the most subtle when it came to the use of magic. Killing a star was dangerous work, and it was best to catch them by surprise.

This being decided, Catriona consumed the remainder of Abel’s grace, restoring herself to a youthful beauty and her full power. She tied her maroon velvet traveling cloak around her shoulders and bid her brothers farewell, then began to walk in the direction the star had fallen.


	4. Chapter 4

Kaia isn’t entirely sure how she got roped into helping Claire clear out her grandparents’ attic. Or rather, she is sure, and she’s incredibly annoyed at herself. Claire hadn’t even asked her to help, she’d just complained about it with an utterly defeated (and utterly cute) expression on her face and Kaia had tripped over herself to volunteer her free time to looking through boxes of Winchester family memorabilia and decide what needed to be trashed and what didn’t.

Mary had helped them for a while, but eventually the dust got to be too much for her and she’d retreated back the living room to make tea and work on her cross stitching. This was fortunately after they had found some pictures of Claire as a kid, which Kaia would never have seen if Claire had found them first. It was just nice to know that Claire had been missing her front teeth for all of fourth grade. Another little factoid to tuck into the back of Kaia’s head and not look at too closely.

They had made real progress as late afternoon started to sink in. There were only a few boxes left to go through, and Claire was already discussing things they could do later as a reward for all the hard work. Kaia had half convinced her to stay the night at Jody’s so they could stay up late and watch horror movies without Mr. Winchester quoting every line. Alex hated horror movies, which was enough reason for Claire to be on board with the plan.

Suddenly Claire stopped chattering away, her attention instead focused on the wooden box in front of her. She squinted at it with a little frown, then looked at Kaia. Kaia turned her attention towards the box, and a note attached to the top stated simply “Do Not Open.” Claire and Kaia exchanged glances. They both grinned.

“What do you think is inside?” Claire asked, already pulling out a bobby pin that is keeping one of her braids in place. She fit it into the lock and twisted it with practiced ease. Kaia felt a little thrill of pride knowing she was the one who taught Claire this particular skill.

“Love letters,” said Kaia. Claire rolled her eyes.

“Old cassette tapes probably. Hair metal cassette tapes,” she muttered to herself. The lock clicked. “Finally! Alright let’s see what’s in this sucker.”

Claire opened the lid slowly, dramatically. To Kaia’s surprise, Claire ceased with the theatrics as soon she caught sight of what was inside. Kaia leaned over her, and read the short note that was on top of an opened envelope.

“Please take her to Dean Winchester. I grew her from him, and I know he will care for her. I cannot any longer. Her name is Claire,” said Kaia with a frown on her face. “Um.”

“There’s a letter.” Claire’s eyes had glazed over, almost unseeing. She looked like she was simultaneously lost in thought and horribly present in the moment. Her hands were shaking as she reached out to open the letter. She froze, stuck in some sort of flight or fight loop.

Kaia reached out and took the letter from her. Claire nodded her thanks and permission for Kaia to read what it said.

“So,” Kaia said after skimming the letters contents. “Your dad, uh, apparently he let some rando give him a handjob. And you’re part plant? And uh…”

Claire snatched the letter from her. She skimmed it just as Kaia had.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” she said. Kaia raised an eyebrow at her.

“Like anything in this town does.”

“I mean, but that’s normal,” Claire said, waving off her friend's objections about the supposed normalcy of Lebanon, just as she usually did. “But stuff like this, it doesn’t happen. If I was born on the other side of the door, how can I be here right now? It doesn’t make sense. And besides, Dad wouldn’t…”

Claire didn’t finish her sentence. It wasn’t like she didn’t know her parents didn’t exactly behave the way other couples did. They operated as a team, sure, but they never kissed each other, or celebrated their anniversary, and they had had separate rooms as long as Claire could remember. Her dad had always said that was because his back hurt, but she’d never really believed him.

“What do you think she was like?” Claire asked suddenly. She looked back at the sign off, tracing the letters with her fingers. “Cas?”

“Claire, are you okay?”

“You were right about the love letter thing, I guess. Because it sounds like she really loved him.”

It took Kaia a moment to place the emotion on Claire’s face. Once she did, she only grew more concerned. Claire was angry. Deeply angry.

“Maybe you should talk to your dad about this,” she suggested. Claire’s focus sharpened.

“Good idea.”

And with that, Claire marched down the stairs and out the door before Kaia could so much react. When she had gathered herself, she chased after Claire, but at a distance. It wasn't hard to guess where she would go.

Dean Winchester spent much of his time involved in either running Campbell’s general store, or maintaining the occult library his grandfather had started. Claire made her way to the library, expecting to catch Dean by surprise. Instead she found him waiting there, two mugs of coffee sitting out on the table.

“Your grandma called,” said Dean. “I was wondering how long it would take you to find it.”

“You did this on purpose?” Claire demanded. Calmly, Dean nodded. He stood and gently led Claire to the chair in front of one of the mugs of coffee.

“Emma told me you wanted to go through the door,” said Dean. “And I gotta be honest, my first instinct was to send you as far away from the thing as possible. The truth is, though, I don’t have a right to keep you from there. But I didn’t know how to tell you, so…”

“So you let me read it on a note my real mom left for me,” said Claire bitterly. Dean winced.

“Not… Cas is a guy.”

“Since when do you-?”

“Not the point,” Dean stressed, looking vaguely uncomfortable with the question. “So. He, uh, he grew you in dirt and DNA he got from this side of the door and his own blood. Meaning basically that you can go through the door and come back without… falling apart.”

“Am I supposed to get something from that?”

“Yeah, actually,” said Dean. “It’s that I didn’t tell you because I thought if I told you everything you’d go looking for him without me. And you’d get hurt and it would be my fault for not… for not being there. You saw the part of the note about the witch right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well that’s just it. I still don’t know how to fucking… I didn’t forget him, okay? I’ve spent years reading through these stupid books trying to find some way to free him, and as far as I can tell it doesn’t exist. And I didn’t know how to explain to you that he’s out there, and we can’t fix it, so I just said nothing. Maybe that’s shitty parenting on my part, but I didn’t know what to say.”

He looked guilty, even as he defended himself. Claire stared her dad down, and took grim satisfaction when he looked away first. What he'd done was wrong, but…

“Who needs a plan?” she said. Dean frowned at her. “Or an answer? I think we should go and find him. Just do it and worry about how we’re going to get him out when we get there.”

“Claire, I can’t just leave,” said Dean, sounding tired. “I have to-”

“I’m going with or without you,” she said. She frowned down at the now slightly crumpled note in her hand. “I want to meet him.”

Apparently this was all she needed to say.

“Okay.” Dean stood up and rustled through some of the drawers in his desk, eventually pulling out an odd looking gold talisman that hung on the end of a leather cord. He put it around his neck, looking strangely hopeful and determined. Clare realized she had never seen her dad like this before. She'd never known how resigned he always looked until that very moment. “Missouri gave this to me. In case I ever needed… She made it so she could be with her husband, someday, in one of the fairy worlds. But when I told her about Cas, she wanted me to have it. In case I ever had the balls to do something.”

Claire squinted at the talisman.

“What does it do?”

“Stops infection,” he said. “Magic is hard to get rid of, and once it sneaks into your bones… let’s just say structural integrity goes right out the window. You’re fine as long as you stay in the fairy lands, but try crossing back to Earth and you just wither away. Slowly.”

“Do I need one?”

“No,” said Dean. “Like I said, you were made here and there. You’re immune.”

Well that was weird. And cool.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

There were hasty goodbyes and bad explanations, and leaving wasn’t anywhere near as expedient as Claire would have liked, but they did leave that day with not much more than a full-blown tantrum on Emma’s part and half-hearted resistance on Jo’s. It did take some arguing to get Victor to let them past the door. Eventually, however, he yielded when Dean pointed out he couldn’t very well keep Claire from the place she had been born.

When all was settled, Claire stepped forward first, taking a deep breath and opening the door. She stepped through, her feet landing on a surface that felt suspiciously spongy. Darkness surrounded her, and yet she found herself perfectly visible. It seemed almost a moving, breathing creature she had wandered inside of.

Dean followed her shortly, letting out a little yelp of surprise when his foot sunk into the floor. Stifling a snort, Claire took another step forward, and then another. The blackness didn’t lessen, but Claire continued to walk straight, assuming they had to find something at some point. Dean followed behind, keeping close to Claire’s side. It was reassuring, knowing he was there and Claire was infinitely grateful she did not have to make this journey alone. She wasn't sure she would have been brave enough without her dad standing behind her, ready to follow her lead.

Neither Claire nor Dean noticed when the door opened once again behind them, admitting another resident of Lebanon, Kansas into the ether between worlds. Kaia followed behind them quietly, fear for herself and concern for Claire warring in her mind.

Kaia could not yet feel the magic beginning to gather inside herself, but in the next few hours she would become so saturated with the stuff she would never be able to pass through the door to Earth again.

Still unaware of Kaia’s presence, Claire and Dean marched toward the end of the ether, where soon they would meet the Dealmaker.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you like :)


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